


let it pour; i keep you hidden under this umbrella

by AFreeQueen



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A bit poetic, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Idiots in Love, M/M, No Dialogue, No Plot/Plotless, Not Beta Read, Post-Time Skip, Rain, Romantic Fluff, Sakusa Kiyoomi-centric, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Tagging All the Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i hope you're happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29552013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFreeQueen/pseuds/AFreeQueen
Summary: The mindless ramblings of love and how it fits into the life of Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	let it pour; i keep you hidden under this umbrella

Let it be known that Sakusa Kiyoomi is a very particular brand of person.

Most people knew, of course. At times, it felt like the whole league knew. 

Knew he was untouchable in a way that was reminiscent of the spiraling balls he hit, service ace or spike, it didn't matter. Knew it resided just below surface level, somewhere just subcutaneous he couldn't scrub it away. Knew that if given the opportunity, sharp barbs would pierce through hollow syllables if they spoke too familiarly, if they walked too close, if they looked too long. Knew that underneath the mask and all the layers protecting him from the rest of the world lay a person too cautious, too contained, to ever be around.

But no one _really_ knew. 

Except maybe those few closest to him.

It was a weepy, dark, rainy sort of day. 

Kiyoomi was curled up along the window seat of their apartment, looking out the large glass windows at the heavy Japanese rainstorm. Lightning lit up in the distance. The resounding boom of thunder to follow took eight seconds to hear. Meant it was eight kilometers away.

Aside from the steady pelting of the rain against the window, the apartment was filled with a low humming of a melodic line. Accompanying it was the ever increasing whistle of the tea kettle, sounding like an eerily distant wail.

A twitch of a smile touched the corner of Kiyoomi's mouth.

The living room was clean enough at first glance. Most things were in order, nothing lazing around the carpet out of place. But upon further notice there was that bit of eccentricity that littered the space. The throw blanket wasn't folded evenly, the corners mismatched with hunks of inner lining showing throughout. There was dust forming behind the TV, speckled under a particular patch of light. A pair of slippers were pressed neatly together, flush, however they failed to make a parallel or perpendicular angle with the carpet, instead skewed slightly to the right.

It was all so familiar, yet achingly unreal.

The humming coming from the kitchen stopped. Its accompaniment did as well. 

Outside, the rain still poured.

After a couple of minutes, a shoulder nudged Kiyoomi's.

He looked up.

Smiling down at him softly was Atsumu. He was holding a plain ceramic mug, brick red, out to Kiyoomi. Dissipating up into the air was the cloudy wisp of steam.

Kiyoomi met Atsumu's eyes and smiled, carefully taking the mug out of his hand.

Days like this were spent dreamily. 

Atsumu was proficient in the kitchen. Being the brother of a professional chef had some merit. He knew his way around, handling ingredients with ease, chopping like he had done it many times before, following recipes with as little chaos as Atsumu was capable of. 

He still made messes. He still dropped things. He still cut his fingers when the blade of the knife got too close. 

One would think a person with such little regard would displease Kiyoomi.

But quite the contrary.

Atsumu was always the one to clean up his messes first. Sometimes, if he was feeling generous (or when Kiyoomi bribed him) he would also clean up Kiyoomi's messes. Whenever he dropped something, he was quick to pick it up as to not leave it behind and aggravate Kiyoomi. When he cut himself, the first person he ran to for help was Kiyoomi.

They had built this trust through labor and consistency, conscious of their pace and heedful of boundaries. Kiyoomi had been thankful, but always just a little frightened.

In the beginning, he didn't think he could give Atsumu much.

He wasn't like their teammates: energetic and talkative like Bokuto, warm and friendly like Hinata, shy and innocent like Tomas, sly and teasing like Inunaki, wise and stable like Barnes, or even like Meian, caring and full of leadership, diplomacy. 

Kiyoomi was jagged angles and steep slopes. He was sharp jabs with acerbic words and thinly concealed violence. He was covert pride and brutal honesty, as blunt as the butt of a gun and nearly as painful to be around. 

But Atsumu hadn't cared.

He hadn't cared that Kiyoomi wasn't fond of much physical affection (at the start). He hadn't cared that Kiyoomi wasn't much of a talker. He hadn't cared that Kiyoomi wasn't exactly like the rest of them; instead, always cautious, always wry.

Atsumu had been intuitive enough to see past all that.

Now they simply spent time together, watching the rain fall in a comfortable silence, sipping tentatively at herbal tea. 

Atsumu hissed as he sipped his tea too fast.

Kiyoomi's lips quirked up.

Atsumu made an indignant face, nudging Kiyoomi none too lightly.

Kiyoomi snorted.

Atsumu pouted.

In the blue lit filter of the overcast sky of mid afternoon rain, still pouring down outside, Atsumu's pouting face seemed luminous, like heaven's light descended down from above just to touch his face, making an angel out of someone far too devious for such a title.

But for someone like Kiyoomi, he figured Atsumu had been his salvation.

Love had never been on the forefront of his mind. Volleyball had held strong and true onto his heart, occupying his time, his mind, every breath and every cell of his body.

Then all of a sudden, Atsumu had pushed himself into the frame of Kiyoomi's conscious desires, loud and abrasive and so Atsumu-like and so unlike at the same time, and he took up all the space, hungry for every minuscule of emotion he could draw out of Kiyoomi, grinning madly afterwards like it was some great battle he had won through hardship and bloodshed.

And maybe that was so.

It wasn't that Kiyoomi had been afraid or disgusted by love. Love had simply been a concept far beyond the scope of his reality; so far removed from a person so careful with every aspect of his life. Love was often reckless, a disease of the heart, wearing a person down day by day. If he was in love with someone, with every cell in his body, ever breath of his lungs, every thought in his mind, what stopped him from falling out of love with volleyball?

Of course, it hadn't happened like that.

Falling in love with Atsumu, for all means and purposes, _had_ been careful.

Because through Atsumu, Kiyoomi had learned that love was not divided or a conflict of interests. Loving Atsumu had been slow and meticulously thought out. Every night a small checklist of convoluted thoughts, just to see if he was drifting away from volleyball and into Miya Atsumu instead. 

But every answer had been the same.

They were intertwined. Loving Atsumu was the same as anticipating a beautiful, completely selfless, considerate toss that Kiyoomi would take full advantage of. It was trust that Atsumu would follow through, that even if he did not set it, he would prevent the ball from hitting the ground. When the world narrowed down into instinct and passion and pride, Kiyoomi's eyes only for the ball, still Atsumu remained in the periphery, not so close, but still not entirely removed.

Loving Atsumu and loving volleyball went hand in hand. Loving one meant loving the other. They were not two independent entities; Kiyoomi could have both and still love them equally.

Atsumu let out a tremendous yawn, mouth wide open, tears forming at the corner of his eyes because of it.

Kiyoomi felt his entire chest clench sweetly.

How? How had he gotten so lucky?

Kiyoomi took the cobalt blue mug out of Atsumu's hand, listening to the dull thud of heavy porcelain hitting the dark wood of the coffee table. He didn't bother putting a coaster underneath; lord only knew how many rings they had left behind, he and Atsumu both, memories behind each one. As if instead of leaving small polaroid pictures of them hanging daintily from string, they were ingraining each emotion deep down into the very grooves of the wood with every new water mark. 

Kiyoomi stood, tugging on the hood of Atsumu's hoodie, pulling him gently into the bedroom.

Just as Kiyoomi was about to climb into bed, Atsumu grasped him by the elbow, turning him around, clutching him around the waist, the darling flash of his opal smile, sly and mischievous, before he tucked himself into Kiyoomi, tipping them backwards. 

They fell into the bed together, a flurry of limbs and laughter. Atsumu's sharp grin buried into the skin of Kiyoomi's neck, and Kiyoomi's laughter deep and quiet in the empty room. 

And they fit. Kiyoomi had never felt this way about anyone before. Like Atsumu filled up every hollow ache, vacant cavity, that he had unsuccessfully been trying to mend for so long. Like Atsumu's warmth was supernatural, always able to soothe Kiyoomi to sleep like an illustrious lullaby and make every errant thought vanish into dewy dreams while he slept.

It wasn't that they were two perfect beings, predestined to be together. Rather, it was that they were two utterly _incomplete_ people, flawed and broken and wholly human in such inexplicably actual ways. And together, they filled in those empty spaces as best as they could, fitting themselves into each other's cracks and tears, making a patchwork piece of art out of two shattered fragments of persons.

Kiyoomi kissed the top of Atsumu's sunflower head, smiling softly as he nuzzled himself closer into Kiyoomi's chest, arms winding tighter around him.

And it kept pouring outside.

Nothing like the rain to wash away the barriers around our hearts and bare our souls open for only those closest to see. The only ones who mattered.

If anyone asked: _Do you like the rain?_ They'd both have very different answers.

_No,_ Kiyoomi would think. _The world is seventy five percent water, why would I want anymore?_

In contrast, Atsumu would think, _Yes. The world is seventy five percent water, what's a little more?_

Yet, every rainy day was spent all the same. 

Locked in each other's embrace, wasting the time away in each other's scents, finding innate comfort and belonging in the steadfast weave of bones and bedsheets, two heartbeats fluttering in time with its mate's, like the feather light beat of a butterfly's wings. 

It was only Atsumu. 

The person closest to him, who knew him inside out and understood his particular brand of person. 

Kiyoomi tucked his chin over the top of Atsumu's flower crown, flaxen hair. His eyes began to blink shut, vision narrowing as his heartbeat joined Atsumu's in a subdued rhythm of back and forth, like a dance of two lovers.

The pattern of rain on the window slowed into a gentle hum, cocooning the two of them in the sound of mutual belonging.

_With your heart against mine, beat for beat, in sync and unmatched by anyone else—_

Kiyoomi's eyes shut.

_You are where I'm supposed to be._

**Author's Note:**

> Just ramblings of my mind. I thought I should contribute to fluff week somehow and a quote in this fic had been living in my head rent free. 
> 
> Anyways, follow me here [@A_Free_Queen](https://twitter.com/A_Free_Queen) on Twitter if you want to. I post updates to my fanfics there and sometimes head-cannons. I'm not very popular, but that's okay.


End file.
